


More than Mere Duty

by stargatefan_archivist



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-10-19
Updated: 2002-10-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 04:19:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10352118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargatefan_archivist/pseuds/stargatefan_archivist
Summary: Season: Pre-Stargate the MovieSara O’Neill discovers that honor and duty come in many shapes when she receives word of Jack’s death. First in a series.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Yuma, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Stargatefan.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Stargatefan.com). To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [StargateFan Archive Collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/StargateFan_Archive_Collection).

More than Mere Duty

Strength and honor are her clothing.

Proverbs 31:25

Sara snatched a dish towel off the counter and wiped off the worst of the dirt from her grubby hands as she ran for the phone. Thank goodness Charlie was a sound sleeper. Before the caller could identify himself, Sara was already settling herself comfortably on the plaid couch for a visit. 

"Hi Dad," she said cheerfully confident in her ability to guess the identity of the caller. "Got you again," she laughed at her father, as he sputtered about how she always knew it was him before he even said hello. "Maybe that ESP correspondence course I’ve been taking has paid off," she teased. Smiling as she listened to her old-fashion father’s thoughts on that subject she finally broke in, "Just kidding, Dad. You call everyday during Charlie’s naptime, so it wasn’t too hard to figure out who was calling. You’re pretty predictable. So what have you been up to today?"

Mike had been so great about making sure she had someone other than Charlie to talk to since Jack has shipped out again. Not that she minded talking to the little boy, but for the most part Charlie’s idea of conversation ran in the twenty questions direction. Of course, with Charlie it was more like twenty times twenty questions, barely giving his mother a chance to formulate an answer before his bright little mind was off chasing another rabbit. He was so much like his father in that regard. Charlie, however, never saw a need to conceal his keen intelligence, unlike Jack who took perverse delight in playing the baffoon. 

As much as she loved her son, she did look forward to his nap time when she could have some quiet time out in her garden communing with nature. It was a ritual she had begun the day Jack had received his orders. It was so easy to pretend that there was no threat, no bombs, no casualties, no Gulf War. Sara knew it was superstitious and silly for a career officer’s wife to shirk her duty in this way, but since the day Jack had held her in his strong arms and felt her tremble as he kissed her fiercely, then turned and was gone, she had refused to turn on C-SPAN or discuss the conflict with anyone. It was as if by ignoring it, she could pretend that Jack was away on one of his secret ops missions and would be home in a couple of days, sweeping her in his arms and waltzing her crazily around the room. And then chasing her with perverse delight upstairs to their bedroom where they would celebrate his homecoming. By acknowledging the war, Sara’s practical Midwest nature forced her to recognize the possibility of way too many frightening things that could happen. It was much better to ignore it and pretend. 

She could pretend Jack was on a short, safe assignment. Pretend that her smile was real when she and the other wives got together. Pretend that digging in the soft dirt of her garden was what drove her to her knees daily. Pretend that her soul wasn’t crying out to God to protect her husband and bring him back to her. It was better to pretend. 

Her Dad’s daily calls helped her pretend. Just like the opera tapes she played on the stereo that they had saved months to buy when they first got married. Jack hated coming home to a quiet house. He wanted a home filled with music and much to the amusement of his buddies on base, opera was his favorite. He never mentioned where he had acquired his taste for that type of music. She never asked. She had always had a suspicion it was during time he spent on a mission in Italy, but she knew he would never be able to share even that small tidbit of information with her. Not that it mattered now. 

She had learned to love the rich concertos as much as he. It was a far cry from the rock and roll of her teen years when she saved every nickel of her allowance to buy the latest ‘45’ on the top ten list. Her crush on David Cassidy and the Partridge Family had merited her gleaning baby-sitting jobs anytime any of her parents friends had asked. Oh, the first time she heard ‘I Think I Love You.’ She had sang the words to the mirror in her room for weeks. And then she had met an exciting and dangerously handsome young officer and much to the consternation of her master-sergeant father. And it was then that her heart taught her the real meaning of the words to the song. 

Now Sara loved opera as much as Jack. Each evening she would meticulously choose from their limited collection and carefully, almost reverently, remove the tape from its case and adjust the volume, filling the house with the gentle sounds of violin and violas caressing each other with a sensuality found only in opera. It temporarily drove away the loneliness and filled the house with hope that tonight Jack would come home.

**********

Shifting the phone to the other shoulder, Sara smiled as her dad shared the latest gossip down at the hardware store. "Dad, I’ve got to go," she interrupted, "there’s someone at the door. I’ll call you later. Don’t forget, you promised Charlie you would take him to the Dairy Queen."

Hanging up the phone, Sara glanced down at her stained work clothes. ‘I hope its not Fran Hudson,’ she groaned. ‘She’s always dressed to perfection and I bet she doesn’t even own a pair of shoes without heels. Oh well, there wasn’t much she could do about it now.’ 

It wasn’t Fran standing in her doorway, but an unsmiling major she vaguely remembered seeing at one of the officer’s bashes the Cromwell’s had thrown. She couldn’t for the life of her remember his name. Suddenly without warning, Sara’s mouth went dry. 

Stiffly, impersonally, as if he was reciting a script he had memorized, the airman drew himself to attention. "Mrs. Sara O’Neill, it is my duty to inform you that your husband, Captain Jonathan O’Neill has been listed as killed in action while on duty in the Gulf. The president of the United States of America and the Air Force command send their appreciation for Captain O’Neill’s great sacrifice to God and country while doing his duty. You have their sympathy, ma’am."

Sara’s blue eyes widened and filled to the brim with pain and disbelief. Slowly, one hand reached up and covered her mouth. 

The major had obviously reached the end of his memorized speech. He stood suddenly at a loss, in the face of such suffering. "Ma’am," he blurted out, "Captain O’Neill and I attended parachute school together. I didn’t know him well, but he seemed like a great guy."

Still staring, but not seeing him, Sara said in a choked voice, "He is, Major." Catching the uncomfortable stare of the young man she slowly said, "Was, he was."

Charlie chose that minute to awaken from his nap and call her. 

"Mrs. O’Neill, will you be all right? Could I call someone for you, ma’am?" the airman asked, concern coloring his voice.

Sara looked up into his hazel eyes. "No, thank you, Major, she said quietly, "my son needs me, now. Please excuse me." With that, Sara turned and shut the door firmly. She leaned against the smooth wood and slowly sank to the floor. Burying her face in her hands as she drew her knees to her chest Sara couldn’t stop the tears. They mix with the dirt, staining her jeans.

Staring at the closed door, the airman let out a slow breath. ‘God, that was tough. He would rather face a battalion of tanks in battle than have to go through that again. He was sure as hell, glad he was single, no matter what his mother was always saying. He wouldn’t want his wife to ever have this to face. As he turned towards he car, he knew those pain-filled blue eyes would haunt him for days to come. Checking his watch he saw that he was off duty for the day. He decided he needed to stop by the officer’s club and have a stiff drink or two or four. Maybe that would help. He wondered what was going to help the woman whose world he had just help to destroy.

Slowly Sara lifted her head, Charlie was calling her again. This time with more impatience. It was another thing he got from his father. Pulling herself to her feet, Sara wiped her eyes and walked numbly towards the stairs. There were things she would have to do and people she would have to call, but right now her son needed her and she needed him. 

The next hours and days were a blur for Sara. She felt like she was trapped in a dream from which she was desperate to awaken. The other officer’s wives came to bring food and keep her company, but the fear she saw in their eyes angered her, just as their inane small talk grated on her frayed nerves. She knew they were thinking that it could be them, their husbands, gone forever. It was a fear all military wives faced daily and never spoke of, as if by acknowledging it the demons would be released and it would come to pass. 

Sara remembered reading a story by Shirley Jackson once when she was in high school. It was called ‘The Lottery’ and in it an entire town participated in a lottery in which the person who chose the marker was stoned to death. She knew exactly how Tessie felt now. She had been marked and stoned and despite their assurances and sympathy, the other women were simply glad it was she and not them. When she had read that story, Sara hadn’t really understood what the author was trying to say. She did now.

Liz Cromwell had been her mainstay. Caring for Charlie, when she found Sara staring at the directions on the back of the box of macaroni and cheese, Liz quickly and efficiently prepared lunch and fed the child. Whisking the little boy up into her arms, Liz had called Mike and suggested that he come take Charlie for the afternoon. She had then led Sara upstairs and made her lie down for a nap. Stoking Sara’s head gently as tears wet her pillow, the young woman had simply been there for her until, exhausted, she had falling asleep. 

It was late. Sara wasn’t sure what time it was, but her dad had brought Charlie home hours ago. In fact, it had been hours since Liz had fixed a simple supper for them and bullied her into eating a little. Then she had given Charlie his bath and read to the little boy from his favorite airplane book until he had drifted off to sleep. After giving Sara a sincere hug and a promise to see her tomorrow, Liz had gone home, knowing that Sara needed time to grieve in private. 

Slowly Sara got up from the couch. Walking over to the mantle, she stare unseeingly at the cases containing decorations and medals. Jack always claimed to hate it that she had the accommodations in such a prominent place of display, declaring it looked like he was showing off, but she had insisted. She was proud of her Flyboy, she told him and she wanted everyone to see just how special he was. She could still see the grin that lit his eyes from within. 

A framed picture caught her eye and she reached to pick it up. It was a snapshot of she and Jack, looking ridiculously young and so happy. Jack’s smile stretched from ear to ear and he had his arm around her shoulder giving a thumbs up signal. Frank Cromwell had snapped the picture the night of she and Jack’s first date. He had taken her an officer’s dance. It had been her first formal dance and she had been simply bowled over. Jack had picked her up wearing his dress uniform. It was the first time she had ever seen him in it and he had literally taken her breath away. Of course, that hadn’t changed over the years. The sight of him in his dress blues still turned her knees weak. Jack laughingly accused her of falling in love with his uniform and claimed he was afraid to leave her alone with it. A single tear slid down her face and slashed on the glass of the photo.

Wiping the tear away with her thumb, Sara gently replaced the picture and turned to the stereo. It was the first time she had turned it on since she had gotten the news. Carefully, almost reverently, Sara reached for Jack’s favorite, Giodano’s, ‘Andrea Che’nier.’ Placing the tape in the machine, Sara closed her eyes and waited to here the first strains of harmony wafting from the speakers, wrapping their arms around her soul, and making her believe everything was all right. It took her a few minutes to realize that the crinkling sound was amiss and out of place in the opera. Her eyes snapped open and as she pushed the button to eject the tape she found long black strings of tape coiled around the reels of the machine. Gasping in horror at the destruction of Jack’s favorite tape, the one she and Charlie had given him on Father’s Day, something within her snapped and she turned and ran towards the patio door. 

The telescope standing proudly at attention by the sliding door, awaiting its owners return, caused a sob to escape from her carefully guarded emotional bastion. Now the walls had been breached and were crumbling around her feet. Sara flung open the door and ran in the darkness towards her garden. Throwing herself to her knees, her bottled up grief broke through. ‘Oh God, Jack was gone.’ Searching the sky for the star he had given her on their first anniversary, Sara sobbed, "Why?" ‘Jack had promised he would be looking at the same star whenever they were separated. It was their link, no matter how many miles separated them.’

‘They had been so great together. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Her fair-haired Flyboy, lying dead in the sand, his eyes staring at, but not seeing their star. No, he was suppose to be here with her, making her laugh at his stupid jokes; making her ache for his touch when he winked at her from across the room. It wasn’t fair that Charlie would never know the amazing man who was his father, would never learn to play baseball from his dad. There were too many things left unsaid, undone.’

The sun was breaking over the horizon when Sara stiffly rose from her knees and walked towards the house. The dam had broken and she had released the first pent up grief. Jack was gone, but she still had a job to do. Walking slowly up the stairs, Sara knelt quietly beside the sleeping form of her son, Jack’s son. Here was her reason to go on. Laying her weary head next to Charlie’s on the pillow, Sara gentle stroked the fair hair and whispered, "As long as I have you, your Daddy is still alive, no matter what they say." 

It was her mantra, her strength to go on, her reason to live. Sara O’Neill had received her orders and somehow she would survive. Life would never be the same. The colors of the rainbow would never be as bright, because now she knew there would be no pot of gold waiting at the end, even for an Irishman’s wife. Sara’s eyes were open and while life had bent her, it wouldn’t break her. She would make Jack proud. She would make sure he was not forgotten. Duty and honor came in many forms. 

**The End**

NEXT STORY OF SERIES: [**A Reflection of Mere Pride**](http://astele.co.uk/StargateFan/Chapter/fictionqz/ReflectionofMerePride.htm)   


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> When tragedy strikes there is always someone who must pick up the pieces and carry on with life. This little story simply wouldn’t go away. I hope you enjoy it.  
> 

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>   
> © October, 2002 The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp.  
> The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters  
> who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names,   
> titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and   
> solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.   
> 

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